


The Red Devil of Inuzuri

by junko



Category: Bleach
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of what might have happened if Rukia's adoption had broken Renji (more) and he was unable to graduate Academy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Red Devil of Inuzuri

**Author's Note:**

> The title may be a bit deceiving and I may write another short about the 'lost camps' outside of Academy at some point. 
> 
> As a point of reference, this story takes place a few years after Rukia is placed in the Thirteenth Division after being adopted by the Kuchiki family. Also, warning for creepy Kurotsuchi Mayuri and his abusive, screwed up relationship with his clone daughter, Nemu. Similarly, though I marked this general audience, there is strong language, alcoholism, and violence. 
> 
> Itty-bitty spoilerage for zanpakutou lore from the current arc.

There was supposed to be a shinigami with them. There was always supposed to be a shinigami. Because, what were they without one? Sitting fucking ducks, that’s what. And, these damn Kuchiki, they traveled with so much valuable shit… including themselves, because even a fifth cousin forty-eight hundred times removed still carried a decent ransom.

So, of course they were ambushed.

When both Miu and Shiro went down, Renji realized he was the last line of defense. If he was unable to protect the caravan, that was it. His whole fucking life would be one gigantic failure.

As if getting booted from Academy wasn’t shameful enough, he’d have spent the whole rest of his miserable existence doing nothing but pissing away his wages in drink only to die on this stupid, dusty Rukongai road at the hands of a bunch of yakuza toughs from Inu-fucking-zuri. 

That was the kind of irony he just couldn’t stomach. Not today.

So, in a desperate, wordless _roar_ he unleashed every ounce of his energy and struck out.

#

“Slow down, Hiroko,” Byakuya Kuchiki told his giddy cousin who seemed unable to stand still for more than five seconds. She bounced on her toes and twirled her long, dark hair, almost vibrating with energy. It was terribly unlady-like, but her energy was infectious. Byakuya smiled patiently at her and said, “Tell the story again. What happened after the bandits attacked?”

“A snake ate them! Tore them up with a fanged tail!” Hiroko proclaimed gleefully, making slashing motions with her arm as though she were brandishing a whip. Her kimono, being a bit too long in the sleeve, flashed out. As it did, she made a sort of rattling hiss or perhaps something akin to a metallic hammering. A disturbing sound, regardless. She pounced on the cushion with a cry of, “Slash! Bite! Roar!!”

Byakuya sighed as his cousin began fearlessly attacking the furniture with her invisible whip or whip-like sword. This was exactly where her story had devolved before. It seemed the excitement of the attack had caused her ten year old mind to make up some imaginary creature that had saved the day.

But something had. Something or someone had, in point of fact, saved the day.

The reports were confusing. Hiroko’s personal attendant and the teamsters all spoke of ‘the shinigami,’ but there was no officer, seated or unseated, on the roster. When pressed, their physical description of this mysterious shinigami matched the sole surviving bodyguard, Renji Abarai. But, that was preposterous. The man was a drunk, and certainly no shinigami. 

Byakuya glanced at his cousin’s attendant who knelt in the corner of the study, a watchful eye on her charge. “You say this shinigami held off how many attackers?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t think to make an exact count, my lord,” she said, dipping her head when she spoke to him, “But, certainly more than a dozen, possibly twice that.”

Thinking of the drunken Abarai, Byakuya frowned. “Two dozen attackers? Alone? How is that even possible?”

The attendant blinked stupidly at him for a moment, and then replied, “Your shinigami at the Sixth are so well trained, my lord, I thought nothing of it at the time. And, as her ladyship says, he called out his zanpakutō and its extendable teeth made easy work of them. Frankly, my lord, I was far more shocked he didn’t step up earlier. Lives could have been saved! I thought there were procedures for such events, my lord. The regular souls are supposed to fall back and let the shinigami deal with threats! If he’d done his job properly, we wouldn’t have lost the truck with the luggage! Her ladyship’s kimono and hairpieces!”

Byakuya nodded, but none of this made sense. “And this shinigami… you’re certain it was Abarai? The tall brute with bright red hair and the distinctive tattoos?”

“Well,” she said primly, clearly disapproving. “Marking his eyebrows and neck like that? And that wild mess of hair?” She clucked her tongue. “He’s hard to miss, my lord.”

“Indeed.”

And yet somehow Byakuya had. He’d missed something critical about this retainer of his. Like, for instance, the fact that he was clearly a dangerous thief.

#

“Where did you steal it from?” Kuchiki demanded from the threshold of Renji’s small quarters. 

It was only the third time in his life that Renji had seen his boss up-close. 

He couldn’t say that the view was improving, given that Renji’d been forced to his knees by the two Sixth Division thugs that had come storming in and rudely interrupted his private wake for Miu and Shiro. The sake bottle lay broken and spilled on the floor, crushed under their marauding invasion.

Now that Renji was secured, Kuchiki stepped into the room. He was impressive in that the white captain’s haori and black silk shihakushô that always seemed to come with its own magical wind that tugged and pulled at hem and sleeve. Gray haughty eyes swept Renji’s meager room, and, though no obvious emotion played across his regal features, he was clearly unimpressed. “Where did you get your hands on an ausachi?”

“A who? A what? I don’t know what the hell you’re even talking about,” Renji said, his words a slurring together a little. “And, you know, you’re welcome.” When one of the shinigami kicked Renji, he repeated, “I mean: you’re welcome, my lord.”

“What?”

A thunderous reiatsu sucked the breath from Renji’s lungs, but he managed to keep his head up as he said, “For the caravan. You’re welcome. Because, clearly, you’ve come here to thank me personally for the big save.”

The Kuchiki stopped looking at him. In fact, he turned his face away, leaving Renji to stare at the back of the kenseikan, it’s odd collection of silver chain and bone-white jade, which somehow kept Kuchiki’s hair in a perfect coif instead of tangling madly. To the other shinigami that were standing just outside, Kuchiki commanded, “Search the place.”

As Renji watched, they started tossing his room. “Oi, hey!” Renji said, as they dumped out the drawers of his only tansu, and started pulling out his bedroll. “What’s this ausachi thing anyway? Why do you think I took it? Was it in the caravan of something? Because, yeah, some of the guys got away some stuff before I could stop them. You don’t think I made some kind of deal with them just ‘cuz they’re from Inuzuri, do you? Because that’s not fair! I might be a fuck-up, but I’ve been loyal! I train hard to protect you and yours, and I ain’t never been back to that place. And if I took your shit, why would I stay here? Don’t you think I’m smart enough to run away if I stole something of yours?”

Kuchiki gave him a brief glance as though to imply exactly how little he thought of Renji.

“There’s nothing here, Taicho,” one of the shinigami said. He scratched the top of his blond mop and glanced around the small room with a sigh, as though tired out by what he saw. “But, you know, if you want, we could pull up the floorboards and knock out the walls.”

“I would prefer you not, Ginjirō. This man has already cost me enough.”

Renji was affronted. “Oi, I was on my own at that point. I did my best. And, frankly, I thought I did pretty good, considering.”

Kuchiki turned to Renji, though he didn’t quite look at him. “Where is your katana, Abarai? The one you fought with yesterday?”

“Locked up in the armory with the rest of them per protocol, sir,” Renji said. Though, it was strange that they asked after his sword. He’d been seized by an overwhelming desire to refuse to surrender it after… after it came alive for him. A freezing stab of fear plucked at Renji’s gut at the thought of them taking it now. With a heave, he pushed to his feet. The surprised guards scrambled to hold him back, “But you can’t take that. It’s mine. I bought that katana with my own money. I have a certificate of purchase on file with the armorer.”

“Find it,” Kuchiki barked to the shinigami he’d called Ginjirō. “Bring it and its supposed paperwork to me.”

With a snappy, “Hai, Taicho,” Ginjirō indicated that one of the other shinigami come with them and he was gone.

“No, wait!” Renji pulled his guard forward a step. “What are you going to do with my sword?”

Kuchiki turned away in a swirl of haori. “The ausachi will be returned to its rightful owner or destroyed if he or she is dead. And, you,” he sneered disdainfully, “Will go to the Maggot’s Nest.”

_Destroyed…?_

“No!” Renji felt it building again, that… roar. It was a demon’s howl straight from the core of his soul and he felt it rising like a tsunami, growing impossibly huge, until Renji suddenly found the strength to toss off the guards that held him, like a beast shaking water from its hide. “Nobody touches my Zabimaru.”

In the center of the chaos that Renji’s outburst caused, a single person stood absolutely still. Kuchiki’s eyes seemed to find Renji’s despite the multiple shinigami he wrestled. Then, Kuchiki raised his hand, sending out a burst of magic. Suddenly, Renji was utterly immobilized. The follow-through of one of the shingami’s punches snapped Renji’s head to the side with a loud crack. Seemingly unaware of the magic holding Renji down, the shinigami raised another fist, only to be stopped by Kuchiki.

“Stop,” Kuchiki said calmly. “It’s too late, regardless. It’s no longer an ausachi we seek, but a zanpakutō. One, it seems, who freely chose to give its name to its captor.” 

Releasing his soldier’s fist, Kuchiki said, “Take him to the guardhouse. We’ll decide what’s to be done with him later.”

#

Captain Mayori Kurotsuchi was smiling. It was never a good look, Byakuya decided, but his skeletal grin seemed particularly leering. “Oh,” he kept saying, running his claw-like hands down the zanpakutō’s naked blade. His long middle fingernail clicked against the scabbard. “Oh, this is fascinating. Utterly fascinating.”

Byakuya took a sip of tea. He hated having to invite this odious person into his office, but if anyone could unravel this increasingly bizarre mystery it was likely Kurotsuchi. “Clearly,” Byakuya said dryly, “But what can you tell me about it? Is it possible to determine its origins?”

“Of course,” Kurotsuchi snapped, like he’d been asked the most foolish question ever. He jabbed a finger first at the proof of purchase certificate on Byakuya’s desk, and then the other at an inkan etched in the steel. “The maker’s mark is right here. The swordsmith is someone named Takahashi.” He clucked his tongue and went back to his cooing inspection of the weapon.

“Is this significant?” Byakuya found he had to ask. “A famous ausachi maker?”

“There’s only _one,_ ausachi maker,” Kurotsuchi glared at Byakuya, with the look of someone who was beginning to think his companion was insanely stupid. “Let me put it more simply, shall I? This,” he plunked the sword down on Byakuya’s desk with an air of authority, “Is a katana. Plain and simple. What you have on your desk is boring weapon made of folded steel and other dull material used primarily by uninteresting souls to whack at things. The edge is very sharp, however. Whoever owns it takes excellent care of it.”

Byakuya’s frowned deepened, staring at the katana. It certainly looked like any other of the weapons he had in his armory. However, all of their tsuka ito were black or, in the case of those worn with the retainers’ dress uniforms, the Kuchiki cobalt blue. This one was wrapped in a crimson ribbon. But, otherwise its guard and blade were unremarkable, though it looked as though someone had scratched a faint image of a lightning strike into the guard.

“Then, what is it about the katana that you find so fascinating?” Byakuya asked, losing patience with Kurotsuchi as well.

“Because it’s alive,” Kurotsuchi said, almost cackling with pleasure. “This dull, dead material seems to have spontaneously generated a soul.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Yes! I would have thought so, too,” Kurotsuchi exclaimed, his hands twitching over the blade again, possessively. “I simply have to take it back to the Twelfth Division. I need to take it apart, molecule by molecule if necessary, I have to—“

Byakuya’s hand dropped on top of the katana protectively. “No. It belongs to one of my retainers, therefore it is mine.”

“It? No, ‘they,’ I should think,” Kurotsuchi said, checking one of the instruments he’d waved over the katana, “Yes, they, and they’re strong and, I suspect, growing. You say it belonged to someone? One of your servants? Well, well, well… it seems you have a spontaneous shinigami, too!” Then, his eyes clouded over, and his painted lips pulled out in a pout. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he stared desirously at the sword, “Humph, you’re a selfish captain, who’s not going to adequately exploit this mystery, which is wrong. By rights they should be mine.”

“Perhaps later,” Byakuya said. “The man this katana belongs to is unruly at best. Should I find him too difficult, I’ll happily sell his contract to you.”

Kurotsuchi’s fingers actually twirled before he asked, “Oh? The man and the katana too?” Even with Byakuya’s nod, Kurotsuchi continued eyes him suspiciously and warily. “Is this a solemn deal? A promise? A vow on your honor?”

“It is.”

#

Renji needed a drink. 

He sat with his butt wedged against the far wall of the guardhouse cell. Head bowed, hair hanging in a tangled curtain in front of his face. Blindly, he stared at the manacles on his wrists and watched the tremors ripple through his rough, calloused hands. He already had a massive headache. Pretty soon he was going to barf.

Renji wondered if the shinigami would give him a bucket or if he’d have to vomit in the same corner they’d told him to piss in.

Directly across from him were the gigantic double doors painted with the number six. He couldn’t look at it for very long. It was like the number was glaring at him, judging him. Because, here he was: finally inside the division—any division. Except, even in his wildest fantasies, Renji’s never imagined he’d get in by having his sorry ass tossed in the clink. And on charges of theft! That pissed him off something fierce. He hadn’t stolen hardly anything since applying to Academy. Nothing anyone’d miss, anyway.

Another shiver ran through his hands, making them twitch. 

The big doors opened, causing Renji to lift his head. Into the guardhouse danced a little girl. She was dressed in a forest green kimono with glittering gold and fiery orange phoenixes along the sleeves and back. A tall, gaunt woman trailed after her, keeping a polite distance. The older woman had long black hair streaked with gray, tied back in a simple ponytail. She was dressed in a servant’s yukata, the exact the color of Renji’s—deep blue and complete with the Kuchiki crest on the sleeves. 

The little one must be some Kuchiki or other.

Renji managed to struggle somewhat awkwardly to his knees, just as the young lady asked, “Where’s Zabimaru?”

Renji grunted, his eyes on the floor respectfully. “I don’t know, m’lady. They took him from me.”

“I wanted to see him bite again,” she said sounding disappointed. “I wanted to hear you roar.”

Renji’s eyes flashed up. She’d seen it, too? Renji’d promised himself he’d stop drinking after losing hours to blackouts, but he hadn’t, had he? No, he was long past that. So, when he’d had the vision of defeating the bandits with an extendable, fanged demon-blade, he thought he’d finally slipped so far down into the bottle that he was having hallucinations. It kind of went with voices in his head, after all. 

But… now this little slip of a thing said she’d seen it, too? He glanced over at the lady in waiting, “How about you? Did you see Zabimaru, too?”

The retainer started at being spoken to and shook her head disapprovingly. Instead of answering, she told her young charge, “This place is disgusting and it smells. You really shouldn’t be in a place like this, my young mistress. You’ve seen the man, and he’s told you he doesn’t have his zanpakutō. Just like I said he wouldn’t. Now, please, my lady, let’s get out of this horrible place.”

The tiny Kuchiki crossed her arms in front of her chest and threw her chin out determinedly. “I need to talk to him. After all, I’m going to have a zanpakutō one day.” 

The retainer shook her head sadly, “You’re going to be married and a princess.”

“You keep saying that like I can’t be both! I’ll be a princess with a sword!” she insisted. And, at that moment, Renji adored her. Running up to the prison door, she put her hands on the steel bars and stuck her head through the space between them as though trying to get closer to Renji, “I think yours is super-duper amazing, though. I think mine will be a demon, too. I want to fight like you! Can you teach me? How do you know when to call it? I feel like… I feel like I could go to him now…. I think I can… almost hear his name.”

Renji didn’t know what to say. Teach? He had no skills and he certainly knew nothing about zanpakutō. He started to open his mouth to tell her so when another voice boomed out, “Get away from that filth.”

That kind of disdain could only come from one person: Byakuya Kuchiki. Sure enough, turning his head, Renji saw the swirl of haori and shihakushô, the ebony flow of hair, and the bone-white gleam of kenseikan. This time, at least, Renji had the presence of mind to press his face as far to the floor as he could, his manacled wrists out in front of him.

“Why have you allowed her to come to this place?” Kuchiki demanded of the retainer. Lifting his head slightly, Renji watched the retainer shrink away from Kuchiki’s hard tone. She started to babble, but Kuchiki cut her off, “Leave immediately.”

“Byakuya-chan!” the little Kuchiki said, “Stop being so mean! Why are you so angry? I just want to talk to the man who saved my life! I never even got a chance to thank him properly!”

The elder Kuchiki seemed a little startled by that, but his expression remained cold and hard. “That man is dangerous, much more dangerous than you can understand. I forbid you to see him again.”

There was a tense moment, as Renji continued to watch surreptitiously through the lanky locks of his hair. The little Kuchiki’s fists balled at her side, hands trembling. But then, some thought must have stopped her protests, because she dipped her head demurely, “Yes, my lord. It will be exactly as you say.”

Once they’d been escorted out, the Kuchiki turned his attention to Renji. Renji stayed on his knees with his face in the foul-smelling dirt of the guardhouse floor. Kuchiki seemed to regard him for a long time before finally saying, “You seem to have remembered your manners finally.”

As much as it galled him, Renji accepted that snide little comment as compliment and murmured, “Yes, my lord.”

“Your squad leader tells me you were recruited for my household from the Academy’s backdoor camps, am I correct?”

Renji’s stomach did a little flip at the memory of those camps. He’d thought Inuzuri was bad. The camps along ‘Loser Row’ never lacked for food or water, but the souls there were hungry for something they could never have: access to the Academy. Everyone who lingered at the back gates of the Academy had dropped out, failed out, or had been thrown out. The place roiled with seething anger, resentment and bitterness… and opportunity. There, Renji turned from a Stray Dog to a rabid one, making his money with his fists in the gladiatorial pits for the entertainment of nobles and tradesmen and their ilk. He made enough of a name for himself that he was offered steady work, and at the time it’d seemed fitting that he should end up employed by the very man who stole everything from him.

When Renji didn’t reply, Kuchiki continued, “How long did you last? How many years were you in Academy before you failed out?”

Renji couldn’t keep his head down for that. He glared up at the Kuchiki and snarled, “I didn’t fail. I was expelled.”

Kuchiki’s eyes widened a little, “Expelled? For what?”

“Violence,” Renji said calmly. “One day in zanjutzu, I broke Izuru’s arm and I gave Rintaro a concussion. Then I might have punched the head instructor when she told me to take a break. I pretty much broke anything and anyone in my way until they threw me kickin’ and screamin’ outta that place.”

“Dear gods,” Kuchiki said, “And we hired you?”

“Apparently so, my lord,” Renji smiled snarkily, and put his head back down to keep from saying something he’d regret, like how actually being a well-trained, vicious bully made a damn fine resume out in the Rukongai and exactly what the Kuchiki recruiter told Renji they’d been looking for. Renji knew for a fact he wasn’t the only one on the Kuchiki payroll that’d come out of that place.

There was a long silence as Kuchiki apparently digested that information. Finally, he asked, “Did you answer me? What year were you when you were expelled?”

Renji wondered why the fuck this made any damn difference. But, maybe if he told Kuchiki, he’d go away and leave him alone. Then he could finally get up off his aching knees. With a sigh, Renji said, “Third year. I made it a semester into my third year.”

“And you were known as Abarai Renji then as well?”

Renji peeked up again, curious. “Yeah, that’s been my name as long as I can remember.”

His interview apparently over, Kuchiki turned gracefully on his heel and swept from the guardhouse.

#

A day later, Ginjirō dropped a pile of paper onto Byakuya’s desk triumphantly. “Who’s the best lieutenant ever? This guy!” 

Byakuya glanced up at him. As usual, Ginjirō had a ridiculous pair of sunglasses perched in the mass of brown-gold curls that dropped over his ears and down his neck. A quirky, vaguely self-satisfied smile graced his tanned, handsome face. 

Ginjirō folded his lanky legs underneath him and sat opposite Byakuya. “This,” he said, laying several loose papers down on top of the letter Byakuya had been composing, “Is the certificate of authenticity and confirmed as legitimate proof of purchase of Abarai’s katana. I sent Miisho to interview the swordsmith and Abarai’s story pans out.” He separated another file folder from the pile, and said, “This is Abarai’s record of service in your household. He’s had several disciplinary charges, including public drunkenness, being inebriated on duty, and, my favorite: an assault on an officer.”

Byakuya’s frown faded into curiosity, “He went after an officer? A shinigami? Why wasn’t he dismissed immediately?”

Ginjirō laughed, “Yeah, that’s what I asked the head bodyguard. She told me it was because the altercation was with the 11th, and they all thought it was hilarious and nobody pressed charges.”

“Barbarians,” Byakuya muttered. His eyes glancing at the third and final pile, a huge stack of records, “And what of this?”

“Academy jacket,” Ginjirō reached out and opened up the first folder, “And, you won’t believe what I found, Taicho. Abarai? You know that drunk cooling his heels in our guardhouse and stumbling his way through his miserable life?” Having flipped through the papers as he talked, Ginjirō found what he’d been looking for and jabbed his finger at some notation on the page, “Top student in his class! He had one of the highest scores on his entrance exam. In an elite class, Taicho! That guy: Abarai! I would have figured he stole someone’s name, but there’s a picture of him and everything.”

Byakuya took the papers that Ginjirō handed him and scanned the words. Then, he had to read them again just to make sure he understood what he’d seen. It did seem rather preposterous that this student was the same man. After all, even though the features were recognizably similar, the student ID card photo showed a handsome, eager-looking young man with a tidy, albeit bushy, ruby-red top knot and a wolfish grin. Their Abarai was a hulking brute, tattooed and wild-haired. 

Byakuya glanced through the marks again, “This is why it was so important to Abarai. He made a point of saying he hadn’t failed, but was expelled.” Handing the papers back, Byakuya wondered aloud, “A star student. What happened to him?”

“I don’t know,” Ginjirō said, “But, I can almost tell you to a day when things started falling apart.” He dug through the papers a bit more and then said, “Here. Something must have happened on this day or very near it, because he’s never the same after. Grades start slipping immediately, he starts fighting everyone, nearly gets expelled for breaking a minor noble’s nose, and then finally does some serious damage in a zanjutzu class… yeah, it’s sad.”

Byakuya nodded. He’d heard some of this from the source, after all.

Ginjirō folded his arms behind his head, and stared at the ceiling as though thinking aloud, “But, there’s no sense of where it all went wrong, per se. I mean, the guy apparently survived a real Hollow attack in the Human World where he watched two of his instructors get murdered and a third be disfigured for life. Yet, that doesn’t seem to be what puts him over the edge, unless it was some kind of slow burn post-traumatic thing…. I don’t know…. You think maybe someone outside of Academy died or something, like his mom or sister or someone important?”

Byakuya frowned at the notation Ginjirō showed him. The date everything changed for Abarai was a significant time in Byakuya’s life, as well. But, it must be a coincidence, mustn’t it? Byakuya stood up, causing Ginjirō to scramble to his feet. “Excuse me, lieutenant,” Byakuya said, “I must speak with my sister.”

#

Renji was half asleep when he heard a voice. It was a bit girlish to be Zabimaru, and he cracked an eye open to try to figure out who was making such a racket in the middle of the night. Disappointment washed over him as he realized he was still in the Sixth Division’s jail. His manacled wrists were aching and raw as his pushed himself upright.

“Shinigami,” the genteel feminine voice called, “Hey, Zabimaru’s shinigami!”

“Who’s there?” Renji glanced up at the window over his head, the moon showing through the bars.

“It’s Kuchiki,” she said, “Kuchiki Hiroko.”

The Kuchiki girl? Renji chuckled darkly. Apparently, she must have decided that the Elder Kuchiki’s rule had barred her only from seeing Renji again, so talking was still fair game. “You know this ain’t the spirit of the law, girl.”

“Yes,” she said proudly, “But it is the letter.”

“Whatc’you want? I’m trying to sleep it off.” Renji didn’t mean to be rough to the girl, but his head felt heavy with ache, and he’d spent a good portion of the day throwing up. He could still taste vomit on the back of his mouth. Withdrawal was a bitch.

“No one will talk to me about zanpakutō at the estate. Everyone’s too busy getting ready for the Hanami.”

That was why there had been no shinigami to spare. The Division was a half-strength due to all the people travelling to celebrate cherry blossom viewing with friends and family. The rest had been stretched out to cover as many of the caravans as possible. Since Kuchiki had opened up his private orchard for viewing for the first time in centuries, everyone was coming in.

Renji glanced at the wall, trying to picture the little Kuchiki, Hiroko, crouched outside his window. Did she sit with her arms wrapped around her knees? Or proper seiza like a lady? “Look, I hate to disappoint you, milady, but I know jack shit about zanpakutō. I never got one.”

“But, Zabimaru…?”

Renji pulled the hair from his face, nearly smacking his nose with the ungainly cuffs. He shook his head at the mystery of his situation. “Yeah, I don’t know what Zabimaru is, but he can’t be one of them, ‘cuz I’m sure no shinigami. I guess we’re both accidents.”

She said nothing to that. In fact, there was no response for so long that Renji assumed she must have gotten disappointed and left. With a little sigh, he lay back down on his side and rolled over, ready to try to sleep again. Just as he’d settled, her little voice asked, “So, I don’t have to be a shinigami? I could just have a zanpakutō? Because my father, he’s told me I can’t attend Academy. He says it’s because I’m too important; Princesses have tutors and private lessons when they want to learn something. He says that the last Kuchiki to attend Academy brought back a common wife and ruined our family’s reputation. My father says cousin Byakuya broke an arranged marriage and destroyed an important alliance, and he won’t let that happen again.”

Renji grunted in acknowledgement. Sounded like a raw deal for Hiroko, to get punished for something her cousin did. 

“I’ve thought of running away,” she confessed through the prison window. “But they’d be sure to find me at Academy. But… if Academy isn’t the only place to find a zanpakutō, maybe… maybe I wouldn’t have to go, maybe I could just get one like you did. Then everybody would be happy! I could marry Takeo just like I’m supposed to, and I can still have my… friend. I won’t feel so… lonely all the time.”

It probably sounded crazy to anyone else: this noble girl so desperate for a sword. Willing to break with all her traditions to selfishly wish to become a warrior, but that wasn’t it at all. She’d said it: it wasn’t just some weapon she was after, it was her friend. Renji nodded in sympathy.

He’d been so lonely, too.

“Get a katana,” he told her, “One that’s just yours. Train with it every day.”

“But I’m not allowed in the practice yard,” she whispered, but he could hear her eagerness.

“I ain’t either,” he said, looking up at the pale face of the moon. “What you need to do is have your daddy hire you a teacher. If he don’t want you to learn sword, you tell ‘im that after the bandit attack you want to know the basics in order to protect yourself. Once you have a sword in your hands, things will work themselves out. Listen to your teacher, especially that part about how the blade is an extension of your ki, your spiritual energy. You just keep practicing, even if it means sneaking away or staying up late.”

“Oh, I will! Thank you!” Renji could hear the sound of sandals on dirt. She must either be dancing with joy or rushing back to the estate in her excitement. 

He shook his head with a smile and a chuckle. Sweet girl. Reminded him of someone he once knew long ago. 

He was just closing his eyes again when she whispered, “Please tell me your name.”

Everyone wanted his name all of sudden. But Renji couldn’t think of a reason not to give it, “Me? I’m Renji. Abarai Renji.”

Then she was gone again.

#

Byakuya put the picture in Rukia’s hand. She gasped as if seeing a ghost. 

“So you do know him,” Byakuya surmised. Thinking back he had a vague memory of someone else that day, some rude interruption, “Abarai was that boy who blundered into your interview--the one shouting about having passed some major exam?”

“I was so embarrassed, nii-sama,” Rukia said with a pretty blush that reminded him of Hisana. “But, that was Renji, always a little too exuberant.”

‘Was’? Byakuya raised an eyebrow at her use of the past tense. “Were you aware that Abarai is still alive, working as a bodyguard in our household?”

Rukia’s face said it all. Despite all her training, Byakuya could read her emotions like a book: she was astounded, grateful, and… worried. “He… a bodyguard?” she stammered, her gaze dropping to stare again at the picture she clutched in her hands. “He never graduated?”

Had none of her colleagues from Academy told her? Perhaps they were too embarrassed on her behalf. Or did they suspect what Byakuya did—that Abarai’s sudden downturn was directly related to Rukia’s leaving? 

Byakuya clasped his hands behind his back and stared out the open shoji screen at the lake of the Thirteenth Division. The wind was high enough that whitecaps broke on the surface of the water and the tall, green reeds bowed and swayed near the shore.

A bad day for blossom viewing. Thank goodness the buds hadn’t opened yet, though many could still be torn from the branches.

Such was the fragility of life.

Byakuya turned back to Rukia’s anxious face. “Abarai was expelled from Academy for fighting. My head bodyguard tells me that she recruited Abarai from the illegal game pits, where he was making a reputation for himself as the Red Devil of Inuzuri. She, somewhat inexplicably, found something in him worth saving. He’s been working for us for several years now, and from all accounts has slowly drinking himself to death. He would have remained outside of my notice except that he appears to have spontaneously generated a zanpakutō in order to protect my cousin’s caravan.”

Rukia looked like she might faint.

“I would like you to talk to him,” Byakuya said, turning away from the pain in her face. “I should like to know if there is any part of him that’s… recoverable. If not, I intend to sell his contract to the Twelfth Division.”

“What? Nii-sama! No!”

Byakuya glanced over his shoulder at her outburst. “It’s reasonable, Rukia. If he’s unsalvageable, it is our duty to attempt to understand how it is someone like him has managed this unusual feat. Perhaps then his life would be worth something after all.”

Rukia’s voice was quiet, but determined. “Let me talk to him, nii-sama.”

Byakuya nodded. “He’s in the Sixth Division guardhouse. You may visit him when your schedule allows. I’m sure Lieutenant Shiba or Captain Ukitake will give you leave. Or, perhaps, you can find time for a break during the Hanami…”

But, she was already out the door, running as fast as she could.

#

Renji was never more grateful that Rukia was a Kuchiki now. He didn’t have to look at her; he kept his face pressed to the dirt floor. 

Their eyes only met for one horrible moment. He’d been in his usual spot, propped up against the far wall, when the doors burst open to the shout of guards. If he’d’ve known it was Rukia, he’d have found a way to squash the natural impulse to glance up, but it was too late. 

Looking into those purple depths, so full of pity-- 

His heart broke all over again.

After that, it was easy to let shame push his face into the floor and to supplicate himself, trembling, before her.

“Renji? Abarai Renji, is that you?” she asked as if she couldn’t be sure… or, maybe didn’t want to believe it.

Cripes, the state of him… he hadn’t had a bath in a week. His wrists were nearly bloody they were so raw from the manacles. The Kuchiki yukata he wore had been stained with vomit and piss and dirt. 

“Kuchiki-sama,” he whispered, not trusting is voice to crack with emotion. “Go away. Please. Please just go away.”

For a moment, Renji thought she’d understood why he wanted her to leave, why he’d avoided this confrontation for so long. He’d never wanted her to worry about him. Even when her leaving was the end of him, Renji never wanted to hold her back. She should live her life without him. She’d always been the one who wanted to be a shinigami, not him. He’d only followed her because…. because he’d have followed her anywhere. Her dream came true. He’d say his died, but he’d never had one that didn’t involve her. She was all that had ever mattered to him, even when letting her go meant dying. 

The silence extended long enough that Renji hazarded a slight lift of his head. Rukia was still there, but her back was turned to him. Her shoulders shook, but her voice rang out clearly as she shouted, “Guards! Open this cage! Haul that man to his feet. I want to see his face.”

No!

But, the guards leaped to do her bidding, and before he could scramble away, the doors slid open with a clang and he was roughly pulled to his feet. Renji didn’t fight the guards the held him at his elbows, except to try to keep his face turned away. 

“No,” he whispered, “Go, Kuchiki-sama. Don’t do this to yourself. Please, lady, let this dog lie.”

“Grab his head,” she commanded brusquely. “Pull his hair away from his face.”

One of the guards snagged a fist full of hair at the back of Renji’s head and yanked, holding his head up and centered. The other pulled back the long strands that usually fell over his eyes. Rukia moved in closer to inspect him. 

Had she always been so tiny? When had she started looking like him, her… benefactor, her ‘family’—so aloof, so… regal?

All of a sudden, Rukia’s cold mask shattered. Her arms wrapped around him, and despite the manacles in the way, she hugged him tightly. Sobs escaped her throat with a cry of: “Oh, Renji, it is you!”

The guards released their hair-ripping hold on him, and Renji was able to bow his head toward her as her hot tears stained his yukata. Even the shinigami’s grip at his elbows loosened, so Renji lifted his manacled arms and rested them on Rukia’s narrow shoulders.

Gods! To feel her small body trembling against his! He could almost forget everything that had come between them… except, she smelled clean and… rich.

“Kuchiki-sama,” Renji said, trying to pull away gently and lifting his arms guiltily. “Please. I shouldn’t touch you. I shouldn’t even stand in front of you—“

“Oh, shut up, you big, stupid idiot,” she snapped through her tears, her voice muffled by the fabric of his yukata. Lifting her head she glared at him and pounded her fist into the Kuchiki crest over his heart. “How come you never came to see me, Renji? We were in the same house for years!”

How could he tell her? 

He shook his head wordlessly. “Please, Kuchiki-sama. Go away.”

“No, Renji,” she said, pressing her face to his chest, as though thrilled by the beating of his heart. “Now that I’ve found you, I’ll never let you go.”

A hiss came from his lips at the pain her words inflicted deep into his soul.

How could she promise that? Did she even know the fresh pain her words tore into his gut? Because… he wanted that, too—so much it was like a physical ache. His chest constricted and his eyes squeezed back tears.

But, Renji shook his head. It could never be, especially not now. She was a Kuchiki; he was less than nothing. If she tried to elevate him, it would only bring her down. 

He couldn’t let her do that.

Because Rukia would try. She was always like that, refusing to go to Academy on her own until everyone else was dead. How stupid was that? Thank fate, he’d agreed to go or she would have stayed in the living hell of Inuzuri just for the sake of his stupid, stubborn ass. But, if he tried to say something now, she’d never believe the danger or listen to his reasons. 

He’d have to show her that it was better to leave him. 

With a violent shove he shouted, “Didn’t you hear me? Get the fuck away from me!”

The guards were on him in a second. He snarled and snapped at them, lashing out with anything he could--feet, teeth, manacled hands swinging like a club—but they were shinigami. In a humiliating short time, they had him pressed, growling, to the floor. 

Rukia had backed away, her eyes wide and horrified, her hands pressed to her mouth, as though holding back a cry of terror. Tears streaming from her eyes, she gulped: “Renji…..? Why?”

“Can’t you see?! Don’t you see what I am? Stay away! Stay the hell away from me!” He pushed against the guards blindly, and got a kick in the head for his troubles.

“No!” Rukia shouted. “Don’t hurt him, please don’t hurt him!”

One of the shinigami guards made an astonished noise and said, “I think the guy has a point, Kuchiki-sama. Maybe you ought to go.”

When Rukia seemed to continue to hesitate, Renji locked his teeth on someone’s wrist and bit down hard until he tasted blood. Then, in the chaos of shouts and cries and screaming, Renji let himself go down into the numbness of fight and pain and nothingness. 

Finally, some point later, it was all over and he lay beaten and bloody on the floor, every breath a painful pull on cracked and broken ribs. Renji managed to pry one swollen eye open and thanked fate he was alone again.

Rukia was gone.

With any luck, he’d never see her again.

#

Byakuya was uncomfortable with tears. Rukia had been crying for a long, long time now. He’d left her to her sorrow and grief and had not pushed her to attend breakfast with him, but now the cherry blossoms were opening. They were expected in the orchard.

“Rukia,” he said softly from the threshold.

“I don’t understand what’s happened to him, nii-sama,” she said again. It had been her mantra since she’d returned to the estate yesterday afternoon. Byakuya had received the reports from the Sixth Division guardhouse warden about how Abarai had turned into a wild animal and had had to be put down violently. 

“I’m sorry you had to witness such depravity. Had I been there, I would have counseled you not to approach him,” Byakuya said. “It’s as I feared. Abarai is far too broken to be of any use to anyone but the Twelfth Division now. I’ve already spoken to Kurotsuchi.”

Rukia let out a little gasp. She lifted her face from her pillows. Red rimmed eyes imploring, “What will happen to him?”

Byakuya shook his head slightly. “It’s no longer our concern, Rukia.” 

“But, nii-sama, he was my friend.”

“Yes, Rukia, he was, but the person Abarai has become is no better than an animal. You saw him. Your friend is gone. You must try to let him go.”

Her eyes dropped, and tears streaked her face, “But that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s because I let him go that he’s like this. I should never have let him go.”

Byakuya had to stifle a flash of irritation. What a slap in the face it would it have been if Rukia had refused the Kuchiki name in favor of such a beast!? Byakuya turned away. “I will make your excuses today. Take the day to compose yourself, Rukia. Tomorrow I will expect you at the Hanami.”

As he walked away, he heard her quiet, “Yes, nii-sama.”

#

Renji woke up to a pair of demons squabbling over his soul. At least, that’s what it looked like. One of them had horns sprouting from his head and the other one looked like a squat, green toad with gills. Both of them wore white lab coats, like some kind of horrible parody of doctors. 

The horned guy crouched down, an elbow resting casually on one knee as he poked Renji’s shoulder. “Stupid brutes,” he muttered, as though to himself. “They messed up the test subject. You know how much the captain hates it when they’re already half-gone.”

The toad-like creature was wringing his hands. “Yep, messes up the base line.”

“I suppose you morons haven’t fed him either,” the horned guy shouted over his shoulder. “How are we supposed to test for reiatsu if you starve it out of him?”

“Delays! Delays! Delays!” the toad-guy fretted and he started pacing nervously.

The horned one let out a little sigh and stood up. “Eh, there’s nothing for it.” Turning to indicate someone or something Renji couldn’t see, the horn guy said, “Strap him to the gurney. I guess he gets the spa treatment first.”

“Got to freshen up the meat!” the toad started singing. “Fatten up the cow for slaughter!”

 _Yep_ , Renji thought closing his eyes again: _I’ve finally descended to Hell._

At least Rukia was safe.

#

The wind had turned to rain overnight. Though the sun peeked through the clouds now, the carefully trimmed grass of the cherry orchard was littered with rotting pink blossoms, most of them as yet unopened.

Byakuya bent down to pick up a fallen twig that held three tattered blossoms, shredded and torn by fate.

Hiroko, his little cousin, came rushing along the muddy path, the hems of her bright pink kimono trailing in the dirt as she ran. Skidding to a halt in front of Byakuya, she stared up at him with anger flashing in her blue-gray eyes. “Where’s Renji?”

Byakuya frowned at the casual use of Abarai’s given name. Standing back up, Byakuya let the ruined blossom fall. “As I told Rukia, Abarai has proven himself too much to handle. I’ve relieved our household of his burden.”

He’d been about to turn away, when tiny fists grabbed his kimono. Byakuya had chosen something appropriate to the festival atmosphere, and her tiny hands closed on sky blue silk with pearlescent trim. “But where is he?” she demanded. “I’ve written to my father! We’re meant to take him back with us!”

“With you?” Byakuya glanced around for Hiroko’s retainer and spotted her hurrying along the path from the estate. The girl was distraught and causing heads to turn in their direction. As calmly as he could, Byakuya asked, “To what end?”

“I want to hire him as my swordmaster. Bya-chan, he’s the only one who can teach me! It’s the only way everything can work out,” she wailed. “You must tell me! What have you done with him?” 

“He is out of my hands,” Byakuya said simply, “You may negotiate with the Captain of the Twelfth Division, if you insist. Kurotsuchi owns Abarai’s contract now.”

A gasp escaped the lips of all the Hanami attendees within earshot. Women and men hid their faces in fear of the name Kurotsuchi. Even the servants paused in their work to glance up at Byakuya in horror.

All the blood drained from Hiroko’s already pale face. Like all of those that surrounded them, her eyes went wide, shocked, and deeply angry. “Byakuya… how could you? You’re a monster.”

“You dare say such a thing to me?”

“You’re a horrible monster!” she repeated at the top of her lungs. Her hands left his kimono to stumble back and point at him in accusation. “I don’t care what you think he’s done, no one deserves to be sent to be tortured. Everyone knows what happens in that place, Byakuya! Everyone! And you sent Renji there knowing what would happen to him. You might not be the one with bloody hands, but you might as well be! You’re a... monster by proxy!” With that, she lifted the hems of her kimono and ran away, pushing through the crowd, weeping at top volume with an echo of, “How could you? How could you do such a terrible thing?!”

‘A monster by proxy’? It would be laughable, if all the eyes on him didn’t seem to believe the same thing.

#

Renji floated somewhere, not entirely connected to anything solid. Voices drifted through his mind including a childish screech of rage: “Kuchiki is a cheat! This carcass isn’t worth the price I paid. I should demand a refund! How dare he break my toys before I’ve had a chance to play with them!”

“I don’t think Captain Kuchiki intended to thwart your research, Mayuri-sama,” a demure female voice noted.

There was a loud fleshy smack followed by “Shut up, woman! When I want your opinion, I’ll tell it to you!”

Renji struggled to open his eyes, his gut aching to protect the small mewling voice that begged and scrapped, “A thousand pardons, Mayuri-sama.”

“Oh! A reading!” the male voice chirped happily. “There’s a reiatsu spike in response to your distress!”

Even unable to see, Renji knew what was going to happen next. “Stop! No! Don’t hurt her! Don’t hurt anyone but me!” he tried to say, but his voice came out garbled, like he was underwater. He could hear the horrible sounds growing worse and worse, his own voice adding to the woman’s screams. Renji’s fists connected to glass and he felt it… that roar starting to build….

All of a sudden, Renji could see. The world was bathed in a pinkish light, the brightest ones human-shaped and just beyond the column of glass. A… monster with an extendable arm was beating up a woman who didn’t even lift a hand to stop the assault.

He shouted again, the hiss of Zabimaru’s voice echoing in his head. “If you want me, come and get me!”

A crack, like a lightning bolt, slashed through the glass.

The monster with a human face painted on, turned to look, his eyes widening. “Oh,” he said, showing off teeth that seemed yellow compared to the white of his make-up, “A little stronger than I anticipated. No matter. Flood the chamber.”

The woman the monster had been beating jumped at his command. Pulling herself shakily to her feet, she began twirling dials on the console in front of her. Above Renji’s head, there was the injection of something black. Curling like tendrils of smoke, it descended like swirling claws through whatever liquid surrounded Renji. 

He stared incredulously at the woman, his hands pressed to the glass, he tried to push against it with all his strength. He had to get out of this madhouse.

 _Don’t worry,_ a voice in his head whispered with a slithering tone, _We are not far away_.

“Zabimaru?”

“No!” the monster screeched again, “Damn it! Look at the dials! Pull back the sedative! Now!”

Thankfully, oblivion claimed him quickly. As Renji’s eyes rolled up into his head, he smiled.

#

The Hanami could not be salvaged. No one would look at Byakuya, and their averted gaze had nothing to do with respect.

He could hardly enjoy the soggy, petal strewn ground with the weight of so many unspoken accusations. With a sigh, he stood and turned toward the estate. The pink blossoms squashed beneath his sandals as he strode purposely toward the doors. Perhaps he would take a bath. Yes, a long soak in the sento would do him a world of…

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two small figures creeping along the hedges. Both were wrapped in oilskin cloaks. Could they be thieves? Thinking to raid the estate while everyone was in the orchard?

In a flash, Byakuya had them both by the scruff of their necks. To his amazement, Rukia and Hiroko blinked up at him from under the hoods. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, not yet willing to set them on their feet.

“We’re going to rescue Renji,” Hiroko said. Crossing her arms in front of her narrow chest, she threw her lips out in a pout. A ridiculous look, considering she was swinging a foot off the ground. 

Byakuya glanced at Rukia. Hiroko was ten. Such foolish sentimentality might be expected. But, Rukia? They’d discussed the matter, had they not? Under his gaze, she, at least, had the sense to blush. “I can’t leave him there, nii-sama. It’s not like Kurotsuchi is just planning to interview Renji. I can’t let my childhood friend be tortured. No matter what he’s become, he doesn’t deserve that.”

Byakuya set Hiroko down and released Rukia. “Kurotsuchi is a captain in the Gotei. Raising a hand to him is treason. I can’t let you risk such a thing for a useless cur.”

“Well, we wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t been so fast to throw Renji to the wolves!” Hiroko shouted. “I could have taken him home with me!”

“I would never have sold Abarai’s contract to you, regardless, Hiroko.” Byakuya explained. “I do not find him a suitable instructor for a young woman. He’s a drunk and dangerously violent.”

“I know!” she shouted angrily. “But there’s no one else, Byakuya! I can’t wait any longer! It’s getting so I can’t sleep! I think I’ll go insane if no one helps me find him, and Renji understands. He had to make his friend from nothing too!”

Byakuya glanced at Rukia who seemed as baffled as he was. Could Hiroko be talking about a zanpakutō? Byakuya dropped down to his knee to look into Hiroko’s wild eyes. “Something calls to you in your sleep?”

“A demon, like Renji’s,” she agreed with a sob.

“Have you told anyone else?” Byakuya demanded. “You must tell your father so he can enroll you at Academy.”

Hiroko’s face crumpled into a deep frown. “I told my father! But, my father refuses to send me! He says the dreams will pass. He says my mother had dreams, too, but they faded over time.”

Outrage. Byakuya had to clasp his hands in fists to tamp down the sudden, angry flash of reiatsu. “He denied your mother her soul mate? He killed a zanpakutō!? Who could be so heartless?”

Quietly Rukia whispered, “You, nii-sama.”

Byakuya’s eyes snapped up to glare at Rukia. Her face was turned away, buried into the hood of her cloak. A tear was rolling silently down her cheek. At this moment Rukia looked so much like Hisana, Byakuya’s heart trembled despite his mounting anger.

Rukia blinked back her tears and met Byakuya’s gaze, “It’s no different,” she insisted. “Renji was my family, just like Hiroko’s mother is yours. I can’t let someone tear his soul apart. I can’t stand back and let anyone take the only thing he has left.”

“His friend,” Hiroko insisted with a sincere nod. “Even if you don’t like Renji, you can’t let Zabimaru die.”

Byakuya hung his head when Senbonzakura joined the chorus. Even if Abarai was worthless, the zanpakutō was not. “Very well. But, we must plan this carefully. Very, very carefully. It is treason, make no mistake about that. I will not sacrifice your souls for someone I’m still not entirely convinced is worth the risk.” Senbonzakura sang sharply again and Byakuya was forced to add with a sigh. “However, I concede that a zanpakutō is worth saving. We will do this for Zabimaru.”

#

Renji dreamed. He dreamed of a secluded mountain hot springs and a powerful albino baboon… no, it was something else entirely, a creature straight out of mythology—a chimera. A strange combination of four animals: a baboon’s head, the body of a Tanuki, the arms and legs of a tiger, and a snake tail.

 _Four… it’s an unlucky number,_ Renji thought.

 _We are the nue, a demon of misfortune,_ Zabimaru said in an alien timbre. The snake tail nodded almost comically in agreement.

That made Renji chuckle. In his dream, he settled beside the giant nue and put an arm around its powerful furry neck. _Given my fucked up life? Makes sense._

#

Byakuya decided that he must be insane. 

He stood at the gate of the Twelfth Division with his hand wrapped around Abarai’s katana while Rukia and, god help him, Hiroko slipped over the wall in their reiatsu dampening cloaks.

“What do you want?” Kurotsuchi’s voice demanded though the intercom. “I’m in the middle of my experiment, which, by the way, you’ve made terribly difficult.”

“Yes,” Byakuya said, trying not to obviously grit his teeth, “My apologies for the state of Abarai. I warned you that he was unruly. My soldiers did what was needed to subdue him. However, it seems that your assistants forgot to bring you this.” Byakuya held up the katana, hoping that whatever spy equipment was trained on him sent a visual to Kurotsuchi. Just to be clear, however, he added, “Abarai’s zanpakutō.”

Now that Byakuya held it in his own hands, he had to admit that was clearly what the katana had become. He could feel its alien reiatsu, so much like the man who spawned it: beastly and… strong. The blade felt as though it were quivering in anticipation, as though, perhaps, it was anxious to be reconnected.

Senbonzakura didn’t like it. 

Nor, Byakuya decided, did he. However, Hiroko was right. He could not be party to the destruction of a zanpakutō, no matter how foul and unworthy its welder. 

With a sigh at himself for getting tangled up in this travesty of justice, Byakuya dropped the arm that held the zanpakutō aloft. “Do you want it or not?” he asked when Kurotsuchi didn’t respond. “The katana was part of our bill of sale.”

Byakuya winced inwardly. Stealing back what he’d legally sold to a fellow captain of the Gotei…. He was no better than a common thief, and, ironically, the very crime he’d charged Abarai with. This had better go off without a hitch. It would be a difficult matter to explain before the head captain or Central 46. But, he would make the case that there were laws against destroying a shinigami’s zanpakutō as well. Of course, the big problem remained that it was unclear what Abarai was…

Senbonzakura sang again.

Yes, indeed. But there was no question about Zabimaru. Neither of them might like the energy that radiated from this blade in Byakuya’s hand, but there was no longer any question about what it was. Senbonzakura recognized it. No matter how it had come to be, Zabimaru was a zanpakutō.

The gate of the Twelfth swung open suddenly, breaking Byakuya’s reverie. Kurotsuchi appeared and his hand reached out to snatch the katana. Byakuya’s grip stayed firm, and Kurotsuchi tugged at it. “Give it!”

“I wish to see Abarai,” he said. “Allow me and I will release it.”

“You’re a double-crosser! Your terms are constantly shifting!” Kurotsuchi whined. But, at Byakuya’s resolute gaze, he sighed, “Oh, fine. I can appreciate scientific curiosity. Plus, I’d like to rub your nose in it, honestly. Abarai is a fine specimen! His reistsu broke my glass. You let go of something very, very valuable, Kuchiki. I was going to ask for a refund when I first saw him, but now I think I got the far better bargain even without this,” he finally pulled the zanpakutō from Byakuya’s grip. “Hee-hee! Just think of what he’ll do to try to protect this!”

Byakuya frowned and struggled to keep his hand from dropping protectively over Senbonzakura. “I’m sure it will be fascinating to watch.”

#

Renji woke up to the sad, abused woman staring at him placidly through her blackened eye. He’d been removed from the watery-container and was now laid flat on some operating table. Had she moved him herself? She must be much stronger than she looked. Though, given her uniform, she was a shinigami. She could have used magic.

He tried to lift his hand to cradle her swollen cheek only to find himself strapped down. His wrists, ankles and throat all seemed to be securely cuffed. She shook her head at him when he tried to test the strength of them. “You’ll strain yourself unnecessarily. There will be plenty of that later.”

“What is this place?” Renji asked. “Am I really in Hell?”

“No,” she whispered, “Hell is far more merciful.”

#

Byakuya tried to seem suitably astonished to discover Lieutenant Kurotsuchi frozen in a pillar of ice. 

“What’s this?” Kurotsuchi hissed. Tossing Abarai’s zanpakutō down on the now empty operating table, he scurried to his clone-daughter’s side. “What happened here? Did he spontaneously develop ice powers? Where is that zanpakutō, is it ice type?”

But, before Kurotsuchi finished turning to look for Abarai’s blade, Byakuya’s first flash had scooped it up. His second had carried him all the way out the door.

#

Renji was shaking his head at Rukia as she dragged him through the sewers determinedly. “This is madness,” he said, looking between her and the brightly kimonoed Hiroko. “That monster is going to come after you.”

“Nii-sama is going to cover for us,” Rukia insisted. “Before we even left the estate he unleashed a herd of his lawyers and accountants to find some flaw in his agreement with Kurotsuchi. Barring that, I guess they’re going to fake a preceding arrangement with Hiroko’s family.”

“What agreement…? With who?” Renji’s brain was still struggling to keep up with everything that had happened since he’d first woken up to the horned and frog demons. “What are you talking about?”

“The mad scientist,” Hiroko explained. “The one cousin Byakuya sold you to like cattle.”

“Now, now,” Rukia admonished lightly, “I told you he’d do the right thing…. eventually.”

“He should've done it from the start,” Hiroko pouted.

Renji was still having trouble with all this. He put his feet down, causing both women to stumble to a halt. “Start at the beginning or I ain’t going nowhere.”

#

Byakuya still wasn’t entirely convinced of this last part of their plan. But he’d gone back on his word too much already today. He handed the kneeling Abarai his zanpakutō. “Your contract has been… renegotiated. Do you swear your loyalty to my cousin’s family as you had mine?”

He raised his head a little, but kept his gaze averted. Someone, perhaps Rukia, had managed to tame Abarai’s ruby snarl into a bushy topknot, like the one he’d worn in Academy. “I… do, but, my lord, I’m not a teacher. I don’t know anything about zanpakutō.”

Byakuya sighed, his gaze going to the cherry blossoms drifting in the spring breeze. “Then Zabimaru will have to teach you both.”

Abarai seemed momentarily startled, but then nodded solemnly. “Yeah…. yeah, I guess he will.”

“The women of my family have given you an opportunity to make something of your life, Abarai. Do not squander their gift.”

“I won’t. I swear to you, my lord. I won’t.”

Byakuya glanced back, their eyes meeting briefly. He could see the burning passion in Abarai’s clear, sober eyes and hear its echoing bellow in Zabimaru. Byakuya nodded his approval, but warned, “If I hear one word of violence or drunkenness, I will personally hunt you down and kill you with my own hands.”

Abarai lifted his chin defiantly, “You won’t have to, my lord. I’ll die before that happens.”

Byakuya nodded. “Very well. Good luck to you, Abarai Renji.”

Hiroko burst into applause and did a happy dance, geta thudding on tatami, “Yay! Now everyone can be happy!”


End file.
